


Touch

by Predec2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama & Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23718094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Predec2/pseuds/Predec2
Summary: One-Shot Influenced by Current Events. Brian reflects upon how tactile he is.
Relationships: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Touch

DISCLAIMER: QAF and its characters are the sole property of Showtime and Cowlip Productions. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

This is NOT to make light of our current situation, but this ficlet was inspired by it. 

* * *

_Winter, 2020 - Pittsburgh_

I have never been a 'touchy-feely' type, but I guess I've always been a tactile person. Growing up, it was the sting of my father's hand against my cheek whenever he felt I wasn't good enough for him, or whenever I tried to stand up to him. Or maybe - on extremely rare occasions - the sweetness and texture of a bite of chocolate-chocolate-chip cake that slid down my throat on my birthday, made by my mother in one of her few sober moments.

Later, it was the feeling of a cool glass of Beam in my hand. The softness of a man's lips, or the roughness of a stubbled cheek as we kissed. The stroking and slapping of sweaty flesh against flesh in the Baths or the backroom, or the clasping of hands at the beginning of a business meeting, instantly telling me if this person was confident or weak. The twirling of a pen around my fingers as I sat down at my desk and thought about the next ad campaign I would ingeniously create to watch yet another, otherwise useless item explode in popularity soon afterward.

It was the squeeze-like vice Deb always greeted me with - unless in her eyes, at least, I had been an asshole, in which case the breath-stealing embrace transformed into a whack against the side of my head. Or the warm feelings of love that rush through me even to this day whenever I hold my Sonny Boy in a hug, because now he's all grown up and too heavy to lift. Or the feel of a joint between my fingers as I inhaled it, soothing the anxious thoughts that most never know I express internally to myself. Or the hard, smooth texture of the loft's stainless appliances, contrasted with the absurd softness of my 1,000-thread, Egyptian cotton sheets on my bed. 

It was the wetness that covered my cheeks as I walked down Liberty Avenue with fat snowflakes assaulting my face, the luxurious feel of cashmere against my neck as I wound my scarf around me to try and keep myself warm.

It was the whispery softness of white, warm sand that greeted my bare feet as I walked along the beach at Ibiza. It was the skin-tight feeling of my leather pants encasing my cock and muscular legs honed by endless nights at the gym as I danced to the pulsating beat of the music at Babylon. Or the relish of threading my fingers through downy blonde, sunshiny hair splayed upon a bed pillow on a sleepy Sunday morning. 

Yes, I have always been a tactile person. But never so much as I when I see Justin walking through airport security, and he drops his carry-on beside me so I can sweep him up into a gut-wrenching embrace that seems to last an eternity. The past eight months have been a living hell for me. For _us_. But now, feeling the steady cadence of his heartbeat against my chest as I hold him tightly in my arms, I breathe in his familiar scent like a warm, soothing blanket pouring over me, and suddenly it's heaven. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! And thank you to all our first-line responders who are saving lives at the risk of their own.


End file.
